


it might be impractical

by spacebubble



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Episode: s4e07 Starship Down, Light Dom/sub, M/M, POV Outsider, Possibly Unrequited Love, Rare Pairings, Resolved Sexual Tension, chaotic bottom quark strikes again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-11 20:59:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11722452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebubble/pseuds/spacebubble
Summary: Hanok never planned on being so impulsive with Quark, but Quark has a special talent for throwing plans awry.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _It might be impractical_  
>  _To seek out a new romance_  
>  _We won't know the actual_  
>  _If we never take the chance..._  
>   
>  **tv on the radio** // will do

Hanok sometimes forgets he’s young.

For a Karemma, at least.

He’s been a minister of trade for decades and he still has centuries of life left. He’s good at his job and makes a reliable salary and can look forward to a steady pay increase each year, indefinitely, until he decides to transfer elsewhere, or pursue a new career altogether.

Hanok’s never been curious about pursuing another line of work. He is good at what he does, and largely finds it satisfying.

Hanok’s also never been curious about living anywhere away from his planet, much less the Gamma Quadrant. He’s always enjoyed being able to return to the comforting stability of home, the vast expanse of rolling hills outside his window, the flocks of sheep dotting the landscape like clouds descended upon the grass.

On occasion, Hanok finds himself curious about the individuals he encounters on the job.

It’s not a curiosity he pursues beyond the typical professional niceties. Sometimes the delegates from other worlds will make small talk, and he responds in kind, shuffling through anecdotes as the occasion warrants, saying nothing much of consequence and hearing nothing much of consequence in return.

Generally, people tend not to offer more than these pleasant nothings.

Perhaps this is why the Ferengi remains a perpetual curiosity.

From the minute they met, Quark proffered far more information than Hanok ever asked for. Hanok had never encountered anyone so intent on _talking_.

Quark reminds him of a babbling brook - an endless stream of words, words, words. He’s never known anyone so inclined to speak directly from thought to mouth. Hanok’s almost impressed by the confidence required to supply such a verbose outpouring. It’s often annoying, but it’s undeniably exemplary in its own unique way.

And it’s tolerable. Not always, but nothing ever is. Occasional flashes of humor and cleverness amuse Hanok enough to keep him listening, even as he remains unsure whether Quark actually is sharing anything of merit or truth.

He doesn’t tell Quark about all the contradictions he catches, and he suspects (correctly) that the Ferengi is not _quite_ so adept at lying that he can keep his “facts” straight.

Perhaps that’s part of the allure - Quark keeps him constantly guessing, and Hanok finds himself strangely drawn to the unpredictable mess of contradictions sitting before him.

Quark’s been chatting away about Bolian currency fluctuations for the past few minutes, but Hanok honestly hasn’t been paying attention to the content of what Quark’s saying, and it’s not because there’s a defused Jem’Hadar torpedo glowing through a wall, just out of sight.

He doesn’t need Quark to explain information that he can process far more quickly by simply reading a few reports. Hanok supposes the Alpha Quadrant might not have as sophisticated a network of finance systems as the Gamma Quadrant, but obtaining such information shouldn’t be much of an issue later, and Quark certainly owes him something for all those unnecessary taxes.

He gets distracted by thoughts of Quark repaying him personally, through methods that he could never include in his official reports -

Hanok exhales heavily. He shoves the thoughts aside.

Quark glances up at him, surprised.

“Hanok?” Quark asks, looking so unguarded that Hanok can’t help imagining Quark being unguarded in his lap, dark-rimmed eyes shut in helpless ecstasy.

It’s not at all professional for him to think about Quark coming undone in his arms, or how easily his arms could fit around Quark’s body.

“Sorry,” Hanok replies. “My mind wandered for a moment.” He glances down at the padd in Quark’s hand. “May I?”

“Yeah, sure.” Quark eyes him for a moment, then holds out the padd. “I was just talking about the asset positions in section five of the direct investment overview. Want me to walk you through?”

Hanok smiles. “I’m a fast reader. Give a moment.”

Their fingers brush as Hanok takes the padd, and he notes how Quark shivers at the touch.

He pretends not to notice as he quickly scans the relevant graphs and commentary on the padd.

Perhaps Quark’s just cold. The Ferengi hasn’t put his jacket back on since defusing the torpedo. He’s noticed Quark get cold on the Karemma homeworld before, and correctly assumes Quark requires warmer temperatures. The many layers involved in Quark’s clothing certainly corroborate the notion.

It’s strange. Hanok’s never paid so much attention to such trivial details before. Yet another mystery to add to his tally of mysteries about Quark.

He hands the padd back to Quark and notes how small the Ferengi’s hands are in comparison to his own. He suspects he could grasp both of Quark’s wrists and pin them down with one hand alone, leaving the other hand free to explore -

“Hanok, you’re staring at me again.”

“Am I?” Hanok blinks. He’s usually better at focusing than this. “My apologies.”

“You’re really distracted, huh?” Quark grins. “It’s okay, I know.”

A wave of relief floods through Hanok. Of course Quark knows. He can drop the pretense of pretending he isn’t thinking about -

“We’ve just gone through a traumatic situation and you’re still feeling stressed,” Quark says reassuringly, and Hanok deflates somewhat.

“Oh,” Hanok says.

“Hey, it’s fine.” Quark reaches over to pat his arm and Hanok immediately resists the urge to pull Quark across the table and kiss him senseless. “Me too. We can talk about something else, if you want?”

Hanok very much wants.

He can’t explain it.

He can’t explain why, though he suspects it has something to do with the stress of narrowly escaping death, the thrill of the risk that Quark kept chattering about.

He wants so much to take another risk.

“Hanok?” Quark shakes his arm a little, and Hanok snaps out of his reverie.

He glances down at Quark’s hand and the sleeve covering Quark’s arm.

“Your jacket’s off,” Hanok says, and Quark blinks.

“Huh?”

“You removed it when you defused the torpedo.” He stands up and looks around until he sees the turquoise and magenta ombre jacket lying on the floor, then walks over to pick it up.

“Oh, right,” Quark says. “I forgot.”

Hanok brings it over to him, noting the diminutive proportions of Quark’s body and how much smaller the Ferengi appears without the jacket.

“I’ll help you put it on,” Hanok says, and he can’t understand why such a simple statement makes Quark blush.

It is pleasant, however, seeing the slow spread of color flushing Quark’s cheeks.

Hanok holds out the jacket, and Quark stands up, a complex expression on his face.

He watches Quark slip an arm into a sleeve, then shrug on the other sleeve.

Hanok can’t resist sliding his hand across Quark’s back to smooth out the fabric, but removes it before he can linger too long.

He watches Quark turn around and face him with a bewildered sort of smile.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Quark asks, and he looks even more unguarded than before, and yet Hanok’s the one who feels disarmed by this bartender who barely even comes up to his chest.

Hanok doesn’t see anything special about what he’s just done. “A basic courtesy shouldn’t be considered exceptional, though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at the Alpha Quadrant’s lower standards for etiquette.”

“Etiquette,” Quark repeats, and he sounds crestfallen, as if he were hoping for something less polite. “Well, it’s still very gentlemanly. For the Alpha Quadrant, at least.”

Hanok doesn’t feel very gentlemanly.

He feels more like the opposite, and he’s trying to figure out how to phrase the feeling, when Quark glances away.

“Anyway, thanks,” Quark says, every downward slant of his body language betraying disappointment.

He’s about to go sit back down, when Hanok reaches out for his arm.

“Quark, wait -”

Hanok doesn’t mean to grab, but he must have underestimated the force needed to pull Quark back, because Quark stumbles backwards into him and Hanok immediately grabs hold of him as their bodies collide - to keep them both from falling, of course.

A distinct moan escapes into the air, and Hanok knows it’s not from him.

Hanok leans down to speak, but Quark’s already twisting around in his arms, mouth open -

And they’re kissing.

It’s chaotic and it’s hungry and Hanok’s not entirely sure who started it, but he’s sure he doesn’t want it to end.

The height difference is inconvenient. Hanok’s not used to kissing someone so short. He can’t pull Quark upwards, only lean down, and he doesn’t want to accidentally lose his balance.

A table might help.

Hanok walks Quark towards one of the tables in a rough kind of dance, almost pushing the Ferengi backwards in his haste, and he would stop to apologize for the roughness if Quark didn’t moan in an approving sort of way.

Deciding to file away that information for later, Hanok hoists Quark up onto the table and leans him back. It’s not quite far enough to push the Ferengi against the table, but enough to make kissing easier.

It’d be easiest on a bed, but Hanok’s in no rush to move beyond kissing for the moment.

Quark whimpers beautifully as he submits, hands grasping at Hanok’s arms, then Hanok’s face, soft fingertips trailing the ridges around his eyes.

The pleasurable little caresses are starting to throw Hanok’s plans awry, but Hanok suspects Quark has a special talent for throwing plans awry in general.

He reaches up to grab Quark’s wrists and hold them still, and he’s not prepared for the truly desperate sound that escapes Quark’s mouth afterwards.

If this goes any further, Hanok’s not sure if he can restrain himself to just kissing.

And it certainly wouldn’t do to be found in an impolite position in such a setting.

With some regret, Hanok breaks away.

He opens his eyes and wishes he hadn’t.

Quark’s breathing hard, face flushed, pupils blown. He’s not entirely successful at suppressing the whimpers collecting in his throat, and Hanok can’t stop staring at Quark’s glistening mouth, which is just _begging_ for another kiss.

But Hanok doesn’t trust himself anymore, not when Quark keeps making such sweetly submissive noises.

He releases Quark's wrists and grips the edge of the table to keep his hands from moving elsewhere. 

“I haven’t -” Quark’s voice breaks, so he swallows hard and tries again. “I haven’t been kissed like that in a while. You’re good.”

Hanok smiles.

“Don’t get too cocky about it,” Quark tells him, smiling back.

“I’m simply smiling, Quark.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Quark licks his lips, and Hanok leans closer. “So.”

“So.”

“I’d love to continue,” Quark says, and he certainly does sound like he would, “but someone might walk in on us any minute.”

Hanok nods.

“And the table’s kind of hard,” Quark adds. “In an uncomfortable way. I’m not opposed to hard things in general, but it’s distracting.”

Hanok finds that he can’t stop smiling. “Right.”

“My bed’s pretty comfortable,” Quark continues, and he’s starting to babble, but Hanok finds himself fascinated by the endless stream of words coming out of Quark’s mouth. “Just throwing that out there, as a data point -”

“Quark -”

“It’s _much_ more comfortable than a mess hall table, and we’d have some privacy, and -”

“Quark?”

“The sonic shower’s right there afterwards, so you could clean yourself up easily and be on your way without -”

“ _Quark_ ,” Hanok says sternly, and Quark shuts himself up.

“Yeah?” Quark asks in a small voice.

“Are you trying to persuade me to…” And Hanok pauses to choose his words carefully, hesitant to overpresume. “Refrain from further action until we arrive at your quarters?”

Quark nods. “Not that I don’t want further action, but, y’know. Not here.”

There’s a faintly fearful look in his eyes, as if he expects Hanok to ignore his entreaties, and he looks so vulnerable that Hanok feels a protectiveness sweep over him.

“Quark,” Hanok says softly. “I wouldn’t be so uncivilized as to -”

“No,” Quark interrupts, “I wasn’t trying to insinuate you would -”

They both stop speaking, distracted by the shared thought.

“So,” Quark begins again.

“So,” Hanok repeats, smiling. “I look forward to seeing your quarters.”

Quark smiles back at him in relief. “Great.”

The vulnerable air about Quark hasn’t entirely dispersed, however, and Hanok can’t figure out the appropriate words to say to make it go away.

He eyes the Ferengi for a moment, then gently kisses Quark’s forehead.

He hears a choked sort of gasp in response.

Hanok pulls away, perplexed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean - is that a sensitive spot for Ferengi?”

“No, no,” Quark says faintly. “Just me. Don’t worry about it. Um.”

Quark rolls himself off the table and lands neatly on his feet.

He glances back up at Hanok, smiling sheepishly.

“How about we go back to those currency fluctuations?” Quark suggests.

“Very well,” Hanok says.

 

* * *

 

Hanok’s still distracted when Quark shifts the discussion to other aspects of the Alpha Quadrant’s economy, and even with Quark pointing out various items in the lists of numbers running down their padds, Hanok can’t quite focus properly.

Quark sees things that Hanok misses, and Hanok knows he wouldn’t miss them on a normal day, but he keeps thinking about the noises Quark made when they kissed.

Quark doesn’t seem to mind. He’s in his element, calmly explaining how everything works, and he’s so effortlessly insightful that Hanok wonders why the Ferengi has resigned himself to merely being a bartender - unless the bartending is a front for something else (or multiple somethings, Hanok supposes).

“Hanok, if you stop staring at me for a second, you might see where the levy goes,” Quark says at one point, teasing and light, and Hanok glances back down at the padd.

They barely notice the Starfleet officer who drops by to inform them the ship is safely on course for Deep Space Nine, but they welcome the information nonetheless.

As other crewmembers stop by to examine the torpedo and praise Quark for his quick thinking, Hanok and Quark exchange a knowing glance with each other.

Hanok can’t wait for the ship to reach its destination.

 

* * *

 

They walk out the airlock, Hanok’s hand lightly resting at Quark’s back, pleasantly chatting away, when Quark stops short.

“Odo,” Quark says in surprise, and Hanok glances away from Quark to look.

Somehow Hanok thought Odo would be taller.

From the way Quark talked about the Changeling, Hanok was expecting an imposing figure.

But the individual leaning against the corridor wall merely looks taciturn, rather than imposing.

(Then again, Hanok supposed most individuals looked imposing to Quark.)

The Changeling’s arms are folded. He looks mildly surprised to see Quark with company.

Hanok keeps his hand at Quark’s back as they walk towards the Changeling, the protective feeling welling up inside of him again as he watches the Changeling stare unblinkingly at Quark.

He has the strangest sense of intruding upon something.

Whatever it is, Quark seems pleased to see the Changeling, much to Hanok’s dismay.

Perhaps they were closer than Quark had let on.

Perhaps he’s merely being used as a tool to make Odo jealous, to -

Hanok snaps back to attention as Odo holds out a hand and introduces himself as the Chief of Security.

They shake hands as Hanok introduces himself as well, running on autopilot as he furiously attempts to decipher whatever connection the Changeling might have with Quark.

“Missed me?” Quark glibly asks Odo, sounding too cocky to be affectionate, but there’s a casual familiarity that goes beyond a simple attempt at goading the local law enforcement, and Hanok doesn’t like it.

Odo rolls his eyes. “With every molecule of my being.”

The reply is sarcastic, but there’s a familiarity embedded deep within the sarcasm, and Hanok doesn’t like that, either.

“Hey, you might’ve had to miss me forever,” Quark tells him, sounding far too chipper. “If it weren’t for me defusing a Jem’Hadar torpedo, you might’ve _never_ seen me again. Or your beloved Major, either. Or -”

“I get the picture, Quark.” Odo’s voice seems to soften somewhat. “Major Kira’s already informed me. She was very impressed, by the way. As am I.”

Hanok knits his brows at the shift in tone. It could plausibly be due to the Major, who was undoubtedly an admirable woman, but it could also plausibly be due to Quark’s near-miss with death.

Quark’s face falls. “Oh. Thought I’d be the one to tell you.”

“You can tell me all about it later, Quark. I’m sure I won’t stop hearing about it in the days to come.” Odo darts a glance over to Hanok, as if expecting the minister to sympathize. “As I’m sure you understand.”

“Pardon?” Hanok asks.

“Quark’s incessant prattle,” Odo explains, and Hanok supposes he would have agreed with the Changeling mere days prior, but the assessment seems unduly harsh now. “I’m sorry you’ve had to experience that all on your own recently - the Major informed me that you two were stuck in the mess hall -”

“Hey!” Quark protests, “I’ll have you know I’m a _wonderful_ raconteur -”

“- with only the torpedo for company,” Odo continues, ignoring Quark’s protests as he shakes his head. “I’ve known Quark for years and I know how garrulous he can be -”

“Like you haven’t ranted at me countless times during those same years,” Quark pipes up, “taking advantage of a generous bartender’s patient ear -”

“When have you ever been patient?” Odo sighs, rolling his eyes as he turns to look back at Quark, who is clearly gearing up for another round of counterpoints, when Hanok holds up his hands.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Hanok chuckles, forcing himself to sound amused. It’s not difficult, but he hates it anyway. “I hate to interrupt your reunion, but it _has_ been a rather eventful day, as I’m sure the Major has shared.” He looks meaningfully at Quark. “And I’d love to take a rest.”

Both Odo and Quark look bewildered for a moment, and then Quark realizes what Hanok means.

A pretty blush darkens Quark’s cheeks as he blurts out, “Of course! You must be exhausted. We should get going.”

Odo asks incredulously, " _We_?"

Hanok can’t resist glancing back at Odo as he explains, “Quark has kindly offered to host me until my ship is repaired. We’ll have to take our leave of you, Constable.”

Odo, still looking bewildered, nods formally. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Minister.”

Before Hanok can reply, Odo abruptly departs.

Quark stares at Odo’s retreating back as if he expects Odo to turn around, or say something else, or do anything besides simply walk away from him.

“Quark?” Hanok asks.

“Huh?” Quark replies, clearly distracted.

“Your quarters,” Hanok adds helpfully, and Quark blinks at him.

“Right, sorry.” Quark glances back down the corridor. “This way.”

They walk towards the turbolifts, and Hanok wants to ask Quark exactly what kind of relationship he has with the Changeling, but he’s not sure if he sincerely wants to know the answer.

He glances back down at Quark as they walk. The Ferengi seems unnaturally subdued, and Hanok’s seized with the urge to kiss him again.

So he does.

He intends for it to be brief, but Quark makes a yearning sound and reaches up to bury a hand in his hair, holding him close, as if afraid to let him go, and Hanok obliges him.

They kiss in the middle of the corridor for a long moment before Quark releases him, blinking, as if surprised by his own reaction.

“Thanks,” Quark says softly.

And they continue walking down the corridor.

 

* * *

 

Another short doorway.

Hanok ducks as he enters Quark’s quarters, nearly bumping his head on the doorframe. “Is everyone shorter in the Alpha Quadrant?”

Quark stifles a chuckle. “Nah, you’re just unnaturally tall.”

“Not for a Karemma,” Hanok replies. He’s glad to see some of Quark’s good humor return. “I’m quite average in height.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, Quark.” Hanok doesn’t understand why Quark keeps asking him that. He supposes it must be some kind of Ferengi verbal tic, which he also supposes makes sense, considering the culture of everyday trickery that Quark seems to cherish. “My teachers used to worry I wouldn’t ever catch up to my peers.”

Quark whistles, somehow impressed by the trivial detail. “I’d hate to see an above average Karemma try to walk in here, then.”

The thought of anyone else walking into Quark’s quarters sends a hot flare of jealousy through Hanok.

It’s absurd.

He has no reason to feel this way.

It wasn’t as if he were in a relationship with Quark, or had any justification for the possessiveness making him pull Quark close to him, one arm wrapped securely around the Ferengi’s back.

He stoops low. “Your bedroom, Quark?”

Normally, Hanok wouldn’t be so hasty - he's still a guest, and he itches at the knowledge he's ignoring basic etiquette to jump ahead - but the lingering memory of Quark looking so unguarded and sounding so submissive continues to distract him. 

And besides, Quark owed him - but Hanok can't truly make himself believe that idea anymore, not with the memory of Quark thanking him for the kiss in the corridor.

Hanok’s never been this sentimental. Sentiment has no place in his line of work.

But this isn’t work.

He doesn’t know what this is, really.

Hanok’s dimly aware of Quark whining about his staring, yet again.

“If you could just _concentrate_ for a blessed second, Hanok, just one second, please?”

And he gazes at the frustrated little bartender he’s holding against his chest, and Hanok smiles, and he lets Quark wriggle out of his arms.

As he follows Quark towards the bedroom, Hanok finds that he doesn’t mind the mystery.

He looks forward to satisfying his curiosity.


	2. Chapter 2

Hanok’s young for a Karemma, but experienced.

Sex was often the simplest exchange, and developing the appropriate skills has served Hanok well over the years. 

It’s a useful skill in general, being able to provide pleasure with nothing more than a well-placed (and well-lubricated) finger or two, and a well-timed application of teeth to sensitive skin.

(And should Quark require more later, Hanok’s happy to oblige.)

Quark squirms far more than anyone Hanok has ever been with, but Quark remains an exception to the rule.

The Ferengi’s sensitivity surprises Hanok, who hadn’t expected Quark to be so responsive to the simplest of touches.

He learns to stop asking whether he’s doing too much. He focuses instead on coaxing more of those intoxicating little noises from Quark’s curious mouth, marveling at the variations in tone as Quark adjusts to his fingers and their movements.

It hadn’t been easy convincing Quark to remove his clothes, but Hanok didn’t mind the reluctance. Everyone had their own particular fixations, and even if Hanok doesn’t understand the aversion to being seen, he accepts that Quark has his reasons.

Besides, it’s exquisite, learning the particularities of Quark’s body through touch alone.

He leisurely kisses his way up Quark’s jawline as he explores the Ferengi below, slowly fingering Quark open with one hand while pinning Quark’s wrists down with the other.

When he gets up to Quark’s ear, Quark inhales sharply.

Hanok smirks. So. Quark’s ears were sensitive.

Lobes for business, indeed.

He considers asking Quark what to do next, then decides to take a risk.

A small one. Nothing too extravagant.

He trails his nose against Quark’s cheekbone, then leans close to murmur Quark’s name, directly into the Ferengi’s ear.

Hanok freezes as Quark comes underneath him with a helpless cry, bucking desperately against his fingers.

“Oh,” Hanok says, surprised at how badly he’s underestimated Quark’s sensitivity.

He immediately lets go of Quark’s wrists, but he’s so stunned by the worn out vision before him that he can’t remember if it would hurt Quark to remove his fingers, so he stays very still, trying to figure out what to do next.

“I’m sorry, Quark, I didn’t think -”

“No, don’t be sorry,” Quark gasps out, blinking away tears. He squirms on Hanok’s fingers, whimpering.

“Quark, should I -”

A strangled moan cuts Hanok off.

And much to Hanok’s amazement, Quark claps a hand over his mouth and muffles a truly obscene sound as he comes a second time, twitching and spasming on him like nothing Hanok’s ever experienced before.

“Quark?” Hanok asks, and it occurs to him that he really ought to withdraw. “I’m going to remove my fingers. Is that...”

Quark stares at him, glassy-eyed, panting.

“Quark?”

“Stop saying my name,” Quark rasps pitifully. “Hanok, please, I can’t -”

Hanok swallows hard at Quark’s plaintive tone, even as his brain kicks in, finally. Of course Quark would be sensitive to that sort of thing, to any sound that close to his ear.

Hanok ought to move away, give the poor Ferengi some space.

And he would have done so, if Quark hadn’t reached up to pull him down for a kiss.

Hanok groans into Quark’s mouth, reason trying to convince him to stop this, to let Quark rest, to not push Quark’s thighs apart and kneel between them, to not reach around Quark’s back and press their bodies flush together.

He has just enough presence of mind to slide his fingers out of Quark, and they both groan at the slick sound that follows.

It’s somewhat anticlimactic, being caught in a liminal state, hard and throbbing, on the verge of release.

Hanok’s been in similar situations before - the Karemma had an advanced stamina compared to most other humanoids, and he knows how to finish himself off, if necessary.

He wants to ask Quark if that’s it for the evening, if he may nevertheless stay -

But Quark holds him close like he did in the corridor, a tentative hand buried in his hair, like he’s afraid Hanok will vanish if he doesn’t hold on.

Hanok rumbles pleasantly at the clinging touch.

He supposes the Changeling hasn’t been obliging Quark in this area - at least not recently.

He doesn’t think Quark would be this needy if his needs were being met.

Hanok decides he’ll stay for as long as Quark will have him.

 

* * *

 

Soon enough, Quark’s eager to continue.

“You’re not too tired?” Hanok asks, amused and relieved. He rests a hand on Quark’s bare hip, resisting the urge to defy Quark’s Ferengi sensibilities and gaze at the contrast between their skin.

“Think I’ve got another round left in me,” Quark manages to reply. “Can’t leave you hanging. Even though you’re -”

There’s a remark Quark makes that doesn’t quite translate, but it doesn’t matter.

Hanok chuckles. It seems like the appropriate response.

He reaches for the container on Quark’s nightstand, dipping his fingers into the now-familiar lubricant, and languidly begins stroking himself to ensure an even coverage.

He would much rather pull Quark onto him, watch the Ferengi attempt to rock onto his length, but Hanok doubts Quark has the energy left.

Another time, perhaps.

The possibility of another time had seemed so remote before, but Hanok can’t imagine letting things between them end tonight. Not for good. Not forever.

It might be an impractical hope, but Quark had taught him to consider different odds lately, and Hanok’s willing to entertain the possibility.

The blanket on his back feels distracting, but it’s not at all as distracting as the expression on Quark’s face as the Ferengi’s gaze drifts downward.

“Quark.”

“Hm?”

“You’re staring,” Hanok teases.

Quark blinks, another pretty blush darkening his cheeks as he continues to stare.

“Got a lot to stare at,” Quark replies faintly.

Hanok dips low to nuzzle Quark’s neck, careful not to touch the Ferengi’s sensitive lobes. He drifts his knuckles along the inside of Quark’s thighs and relishes the shivers his touch produces.

“Ready?” Hanok asks.

He hears Quark’s breathing grow heavier.

He presses a tender kiss to the side of Quark’s mouth, patient, waiting, tense with anticipation.

Quark nods. His hands feel electrifying as they dig into Hanok’s arms. “Ready.”

Hanok eases into him as slowly as possible, biting back a number of filthy comments that spring to mind as Quark muffles a desperate cry against his neck.

He reaches behind Quark’s back to lift him up slightly and readjust the angle, and Quark’s faintly approving moan encourages him to proceed.

There’s not much room to move, but Hanok’s fascinated by how every little progression makes Quark shudder against him, and he’s in no rush.

His stamina’s a modest point of pride, one that has often given Hanok an advantage in bed (or otherwise). It pleases him to retain control as Quark rapidly dissolves into incoherency underneath him.

Which is good, because the size difference is even more inconvenient than the height difference, even with the lubricant to assist the way.

It’s inconvenient, but not impossible.

Hanok’s not sure if he’s only thinking about the sex anymore.

There’s a nostalgic feeling tugging at his heart as he rocks his hips into Quark's tight heat.

Hanok sometimes forgets he's young for a Karemma, but now he’s remembering the boundless energy of youth, the endless possibilities of a long summer, the vibrant colors in the sky as the afternoon fades into evening. Stars sparkling overhead in an infinite expanse of clear crisp nights.

A warm body next to his as he wakes up, something worth lingering in bed for before he heads out to work.

He slows his thrusts as he contemplates the feeling coursing through him, completely taken aback by the sentiment Quark’s unlocked, and something about the slowed rhythm seems to dismantle Quark from the inside out.

Quark turns Hanok’s name into a beautifully strained moan as he rolls his hips back against the Karemma, the slick sounds of their lovemaking spurring Hanok onwards, for he supposes it’s lovemaking now, and not merely a simple exchange.

Once again, Quark surprises him by finishing first, clenching around him with a sweet little cry that makes Hanok slam into him with a thoroughly undisciplined thrust.

He grabs for Quark’s hand and pins it down in a tight grip, and Quark makes an exhausted sort of whimper in response.

Hanok kisses Quark hard as he comes, and he thinks he feels Quark smile into the kiss.

 

* * *

 

“Are you all right?” Hanok asks, stroking Quark’s cheek as they lie next to each other, blankets in disarray around them, Quark no longer fussing over being seen.

Quark watches him with a half-lidded gaze. He mumbles a vague sound, still too overwhelmed for words, and Hanok smiles.

“We should do this again,” Hanok murmurs. He’s taking another risk, he knows it, but Quark did encourage him to gamble.

Quark doesn’t reply right away. He reaches out to smooth the stray hairs that have fallen over Hanok’s face, looking contemplative.

“Again?” Quark asks finally. He sounds melancholy. “But your ship leaves tomorrow.”

“It does.”

“And you’ll be back on the other side of the wormhole.”

“I will.”

Quark knits his browridges together. “So how would that work?”

Hanok shrugs. For once, he’s not concerned with details. “We’ll find a way.”

The optimism makes Quark laugh. “Seriously?”

Hanok nods. He’s never been more serious. “Very much.”

“Oh.” Quark blinks. He looks conflicted. “Like a long-distance thing?”

“You could call it that.” Hanok continues stroking Quark’s cheek in a gentle and languid pattern. “Whatever you wish to call it.”

The conflicted look remains on Quark’s face. He looks like he doesn’t want to disappoint Hanok, so Hanok doesn’t give him the opportunity.

“You don’t have to decide anytime soon,” Hanok says. “Just know that the offer exists. And there’s no deadline.”

Quark’s voice is small, still sounding like he’s afraid to disappoint as he asks, “But what if you meet someone else?”

Hanok chuckles. “Somehow I doubt I’ll ever meet anyone quite like you, Quark.”

There’s another pause as Quark digests his reply.

“Probably true,” Quark says eventually, sounding flattered and perplexed all at once. “But what does that have to do with anything?”

Hanok decides he’s gambled enough with his emotions for one day.

He sighs to himself, then puts on a smile for Quark.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hanok says. “How are you feeling?”

The change in subject seems to put Quark at ease.

“Sore,” Quark says, smiling sheepishly, “but good.”

Hanok thinks about making Quark sore over and over again, for countless summers and seasons to come, but shoves the thoughts aside.

It doesn’t pay to be sentimental.

He might as well learn some other things from Quark while he can.

Hanok rubs his thumb against Quark’s cheek. “I believe you mentioned showing me a game of yours. Dabo, was it?”

 

* * *

 

The game entertains him more than he expected, but Hanok’s learning to get used to the unexpected whenever Quark’s around.

They’re both surprised when the Changeling appears at the dabo table to keep an eye on the proceedings - ostensibly to prevent Quark from cheating Hanok any further, but Hanok suspects it’s more for Odo to keep an eye on Quark.

Odo’s attentive hovering doesn’t escape his notice. The Changeling's continued presence seems to confirm his suspicions, but for once, Hanok doesn't enjoy the likelihood of being right.

Letting himself get so distracted almost costs him, but Hanok catches on fast to the array of probabilities and combinations involved. He notes the tilt of the dabo wheel and factors in the associated variables with ease.

It’s incredibly satisfying to see the shocked look on Quark’s face as he wins triple over.

Hanok feels a certain degree of satisfaction at taking so much latinum from Quark, but he doesn’t intend to keep it. The amount is paltry compared to his annual earnings.

He keeps the fact secret for the moment, and exchanges an amused glance with the Changeling, who seems satisfied at the balance of things.

Hanok smiles as he watches Odo take his leave, chuckling away.

His smile fades somewhat as he watches the Changeling pat Quark on the shoulder before leaving.

It’s a gesture under the guise of amusement over Quark’s misfortune, but it’s still overly familiar. Hanok can’t recall ever hearing of a Changeling being so willing to touch a non-Changeling so casually, but he supposes Odo is an exception amongst Changelings, just as Quark is an exception amongst Ferengi.

He hopes that’s all it is.

Two exceptions who happen to have known each other for years, and nothing more.

He snaps back to attention as Quark looks at him expectantly, waiting for his next move.

 

* * *

 

The next day arrives faster than Hanok expected.

He lingers at the airlock to say goodbye to Quark, wishing he didn’t have to leave so soon.

“Have you ever considered moving?” Hanok asks, and Quark looks bewildered by the concept.

“Moving where?”

“Just wondering.” Hanok knows the timing is terrible - he’s about to journey back to the Gamma Quadrant and there was no telling when it would be safe to return to the station again, but he can’t stop himself from making the suggestion. “You’d have much more living space on Karemma.”

Quark laughs. “I see.”

Hanok continues, adding, “My own home, for example, has an ample amount.”

“Mm-hmm.” Quark sidles up to him. “And your bed’s large and luxurious, I’m assuming.”

“It’s a sensible size,” Hanok informs him. “One that can easily accommodate another. Just something I thought I would mention, as a data point.”

Quark nods. “Right.” A bittersweet sort of grin spreads across his face. “Hanok, I wish we could discuss this further, I really do.”

“We don’t have to end the discussion today.” Hanok glances down at Quark’s lips, then leans close. “I’m glad we’ve gotten to know each other better, Quark.”

Quark blinks. “Me too.” He swallows hard. “I’ll miss you.”

Hanok smiles. He tilts Quark’s chin up for a kiss.

It’s far too short, but so is everything in the Alpha Quadrant.

Everything that matters, at least.

Hanok pulls away with a quiet sigh.

“We’ll see each other again,” he tells Quark.

“I hope you’re right,” Quark replies, and he sounds like he means it.

Hanok hopes he does.

He’s willing to take the risk.

They say their final goodbyes, and Hanok turns to walk through the airlock.

He’s young for a Karemma, and he’s gambling on a possibility most Karemma wouldn’t ever consider, but he supposes he’s an exception to the rule.

His future is more uncertain than ever.

He looks forward to it.

**Author's Note:**

>  _...Your love makes a fool of you, you can't seem to understand_  
>  _A heart doesn't play by rules and love has it's own demands_  
>  _But I'll be there to take care of you if ever you should decide_  
>  _That you don't want to waste your life in the middle of a lovesick lullaby_  
>   
>  **tv on the radio** // will do
> 
> *
> 
> author's note:
> 
> quodo's definitely still my otp, but damn if i didn't get caught up in the notion of quark having an angsty sugar friend-with-benefits along the way


End file.
